


allegro.

by blushzzt



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Dancer!Reader, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Other, Red String of Fate!AU, bartender!xukun, cai xukun - Freeform, idk - Freeform, maybe some angst?, reader - Freeform, soulmate!AU, xukun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 09:12:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blushzzt/pseuds/blushzzt
Summary: Xukun's string is broken and yours doesn't work. Maybe you're destined to be alone forever, or not.





	allegro.

Xukun’s string is broken. It just goes longer and longer with every step he takes and it seems like it will never end. It’s not supposed to happen. Fate doesn’t work like that. It’s supposed to end at some point, to shorten and extend from wherever his soulmate is. **  
**

Maybe he doesn’t have a soulmate. Maybe he’ll be like one of those cursed ones, outed by society and by themselves.

Some days he tries to trick himself into thinking that yes, he does have a soulmate, no, his string isn’t broken. So he stands at the end of the hall, the string two steps further away. He takes two steps and the string gets longer by three, he takes four, it gets seven, he takes five, it gets nine, he starts running, he can’t see the string anymore.

Doctors have told him how exceptional and rare his case is. A never-seen-before. They’ve called him fate’s mistake, a joke, an error in some equation.  He doesn’t let that get to him but his hopes are slowly dying in a fire he doesn’t know it had started.

He goes to work just fine, but even the mixing and pouring doesn’t shake him off the feeling that something is missing at the other side of his string.

 

* * *

 

It’s three am and something when you stumble into Xukun’s bar, a little shaken up, a little breathless. The first thing he notices is your hair flying in every direction and your clothes look more like clothes to wear at home than at a bar. You’re holding ballet shoes in one hand and carrying a gym bag on the other.

Xukun’s had his fair share of eccentric and outlandish customers but you’re a special case. You don’t order anything, you just sit down and stare at the counter. The lights hit your back making the shadows more prominent and you look like you’re about to collapse. Xukun worries. He’s in front of you waiting for you to say something but you don’t.

“Can I get you something?” he asks. You look up at him and wow, your eyes are gorgeous, and damn, why are you looking at him like that?

“The strongest thing you have,” you answer in sighs and huffs.

He goes for shots and cups. He pours you a martini with extra ice and hopes your alcohol tolerance is high enough for this drink. You drink everything in one gulp and ask for more and soon enough you’re talking about how tired you are, how Madame Xiang is a perfectionist, how it’s not your fault you’re not flexible.

Xukun learns that four is your limit because you’re now laughing about how you didn’t get the lead role, and dammit, you worked so hard, you deserve it more than “Daddy’s girl” Hualeng. Xukun is scared you’ll start dancing in the middle of the bar but you don’t, you’re looking at him and mumbling something that sounds awfully similar to “shit you’re handsome” before falling asleep on the counter.

He takes a look at your gym bag and locates your name written in cursive handwriting. You’re strange. Dancers are not supposed to be drinking and getting drunk, especially not when a play is coming up. Your shoes are worn out and are not suitable for pirouettes and grand jetés unless you want to slip and fall.

He can’t help but smile a little at you.

You’re strange but he likes it.

 

* * *

The shaking of your shoulder wakes you up at 7 am in some unknown bar. You’re met with a cute guy with parted hair and you’re suddenly conscious of the drool on the corner of your mouth. You blink a few times to jolt the dizziness away and bam! He’s suddenly much more handsome.

“Hey, we’re going to close soon and you fell asleep,” he explains to you in a calm and soothing voice. You swear that if he keeps talking you’ll fall asleep again.

You proceed to apologize profusely and grab your things and exit the bar flusteredly before you embarrass yourself furthermore. No, wait, it’s not the time to fuss over the cute bartender, you’re going to be late to practice and Madame Xiang doesn’t let anyone late enter her class.

You curse at yourself and at the damn red man who won’t switch to green. It’s the second time this week you’re late, and the hallways don’t provide you enough space to practice your sissones. You do them either too big or too small but never enough.

Madame Xiang greets you fuming, yelling, and closes the door in your face. You hear a lot of whispering and snickering until Madame Xiang’s shrieking voice appears with a “silence!”.

You collapse on the floor, contemplating the idea of sleeping right there and then but no, you’re the demi-soloist and you’re going to dance and practice until your body has memorized each step and your muscles hurt.

With the music echoing you start the boring exercises on the barre, for you a locked door’s handle. Tendu devant, derrière, head left, head right, open more your arms, smile a bit more. The music switches and you’re left pulling whatever movements you want. Chassés, fondus, fouettés.

When everything ends, it feels like something inside of you has died. Your breathing is erratic and the adrenaline makes your whole self palpitate.

Your string is contracting in weird shapes and forms. Your pinky is tingling but you could care less. You love dancing and you pledge to yourself that you’ll never stop dancing.

Who cares about some soulmate, as long as you can dance it will be fine.

 

* * *

 

 

You’re here again. Looking less like a mess than last time but  _you’re here again._  This time you sit down and ask for a glass of ice water. Xukun hurries to give you the cup of water and can’t help but gape at you because wow, you’re really beautiful.

You start apologizing again about what happened this morning but Xukun is more focused on how you smile, how you laugh. He shakes his head with an “it’s okay” and pours you more water.

“I just, I had a bad day yesterday,” you say while rubbing your temples, “they announced the lead roles and I wasn’t picked.”

“I’m sure you’re an exceptional dancer, they just didn’t see it.” Xukun doesn’t understand why he’s trying to comfort you but it’s worth it if it makes you smile, brighter than anything.

He introduces himself as “Xukun, Cai Xukun, bartender in Le Chat, good at making any cocktails” and you introduce yourself as “____, ______, dancer in Academy of Ballet, good at ballet but not at balance”.

You two chat about mundane things. Xukun comes to hate your dance colleagues and Madame Xiang—a witch he calls her—and understands the hardships of classical ballet. He tells you about his training as a bartender and finds endearing your frown when he tells you about some rude customers.

Tonight the lights hit your face softly, illuminating your eyes, lighting up your smile.

Xukun wishes he could stay forever like this, chatting with you, but at past midnight you’re leaving him—a dancer needs their rest, you say—and going out the door. He hopes you come see him again and a little part of him hopes this can be something more, something else.

But he’s seen you fiddle with your string and knows the chances are slim.

And after all, you’re too good for him.

 

* * *

You’ve made your routine to visit him every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday night. Wednesdays are hard days in which you have to practice your pliés and basics, Fridays are days in which Xukun is busy and needs you to make him company and Saturdays are days in which you’re completely free and can stay until the local closes.

Xukun is the dorkiest dork you know and it scares you how easily he’s slipped into your life. The looks he gives you and all of his tiny things make your heart do somersaults and Jesus Christ, you might be in love with this dork.

But your string doesn’t work like that. It contracts and shrinks as it goes and it doesn’t make sense. So for now and probably forever your soulmate is and will always be ballet.

No matter how much Xukun makes you fall for him, no matter how much your chest hurts for him.

 

* * *

Tomorrow is the last dressing rehearsal. You’re so glad it’s over, you’re tired of those fancy tutus and your blue and white dress. You’re only the demi-soloist, of course they’re going to give you the most mediocre dress they find. But still it’s enough for you, as long as you can be on stage.

Your feet ache from being within these restricting shoes, your arms hurt from switching positions all the time and it gets every time harder to pull the expressions on your face of your solo. The last turning skips seem agonizing, tortuous even.

The ending pose is graceful but powerful. En pointe, derrière, en face, stomach in, shoulders stretched.

Tears well up in your eyes because it’s done, you’re done, you’ve done it. You wish Madame Xiang and the rest were here to see your success. You, who haven’t been to any RAD exams unlike them, you, who don’t come from any rich background.

You shatter on the floor—the floor might as well be your friend. You hear someone clapping but you’re too tired to stand up and know who it is. Someone hovers over you blocking all light from you. You’ve seen this messy hair before, this smell of alcohol.

“Xukun? What are you doing here?”

“You were great, sweetheart. You’re gonna kill it on stage.”

Xukun pulls you up and hugs you in the process. You whine because you’re sweaty and gross and he shouldn’t touch you while you’re like this but he just laughs and ruffles your hair. He pulls you closer to him to the point you can inhale his scent.

“I mean it, you were really amazing,” he whispers sweetly in your ear and you’re probably redder than any tomato by now.

“Thank you, Xukun. I appreciate it,” you stand on your tiptoes and give him a small kiss on his jaw. It makes you laugh seeing red on the tips of his ears.

“Don’t laugh!”

“I’m sorry, you’re just, you’re too cute.”

“You’re cuter.”

“What?”

“I said you’re cuter.”

Your head is dizzy and your mind is spinning in circles. Your hands are sweating and it feels like your ribcage is going to break. But the stinginess of your string reminds you that Xukun isn’t your soulmate, you can’t be with him. You’re not going to drag Xukun into this mess, he doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve someone with a crazy string like you.

Silence covers you both. You see doubt, fear and disappointment flash through Xukun’s eyes and it hurts you, because such things should never be in his eyes. You want to see their glint, their sparkle.

“Xukun… my string is broken.” You’re going to cry. You don’t want to cry. Not in front of him.

But he caresses your face lovingly, it stops all your thoughts, and places his lips on your forehead, on your eyelid, on your nose, on your cheek.

“My string is broken too.”

And those words give you all you need for yourself and for him.

 

* * *

Xukun swears he’s flying. He must have saved an entire country or something in his past life. Fate can go to hell for all he cares, you’re there and that’s enough.

He may not have a soulmate, but he’s got you.

 

* * *

You look like an angel on stage with your blue and white dress which you’ve told Xukun many times you hate. Your steps are small and elegant, the dress floats around you like some sort of halo. You’re so alluring, so dazzling, Xukun wants to learn ballet just to be able to dance with you.

When the stage ends, he sees your face. You’re trying to smile, trying not to break down and fall apart.

Xukun rushes backstage as the curtains draw over and the music changes. He pushes and pulls people and apologizes for the fuss he’s making. Madame Xiang looks at him sternly before softening her glance and signaling him where you are.

Xukun finds you hunched over a couch. You’re panting and your shoes are on the floor. His hands envelop yours and he pulls you into his arms. Tears stream down your cheeks and he repeatedly kisses your hair and forehead. He murmurs words of “it’s okay”, “you’re beautiful”, “you did well”.

When you’ve finally stopped sobbing, you lock eyes with him. Your makeup is ruined and he’s sure there are some lipstick stains on his shirt but you’re smiling at him and thanking him and god, you’re too good for him.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline rushing in him, the lights moulding everything perfectly or the music of the pas de deux. Whatever it was, he locks his lips with yours. Eagerly, gently, lovingly.

When his lips leave yours, he’s a little breathless, a little shaken up. But that doesn’t stop him from kissing you once more, and again and again, between all the frantic backstage rushing, between all the cheap makeup and assemblés.

And between all that mess and all those kisses, you don’t notice the red string connecting both your pinkies.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first fic on ao3 and i have no idea what i'm doing lol i've published this fic before on tumblr! i hope you liked it :D


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